Inside b-1

by Brenda Novak

  “What’s his name?” he asked Michelle.

  “Don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. “Room’s booked under the department, and I haven’t met him. I haven’t even seen him, to tell you the truth.”

  “He hasn’t come out?”

  She frowned as she shook her head. “Not on my shift.”

  “What about the maids? Have they seen him?”

  “I haven’t asked.” She got a funny look on her face. “Why are you so interested in this guy? Wallace will be back next week, if that helps. He reserved a room for Tuesday.”

  This was news, too. Wallace wouldn’t return so soon unless he had important business. And whatever it was, Peyton wouldn’t talk about it. She’d even lied to cover it up.

  This wasn’t about that scumbag pedophile he’d bashed in the head. It was bigger. A lot bigger.

  As soon as she got home, Peyton threw her keys on the counter without bothering to see where they landed, pulled her cell phone from her purse and plopped onto the couch.

  Allowing Virgil to use her proved she was in over her head. Where was her self-respect? She’d never had an illicit relationship with anyone before, hadn’t even slept with the C.O. she’d briefly dated after he’d given his notice. But she couldn’t seem to maintain any distance when it came to Virgil and that scared her. She had to change that, do whatever was necessary to get a grip on her behavior. And the only way she figured she’d be successful was to confess.

  She needed to tell the truth, anyway. She couldn’t be hypocritical enough to hide such a secret while acting as if she’d done nothing wrong. A liar wasn’t the kind of person she aspired to be.

  But would opening her mouth mean the loss of her job?

  Possibly. The CDCR could call it malfeasance of office and put her on probation. They could transfer her somewhere else, maybe demote her. They could even dismiss her. It depended on how flagrantly, in their opinion, her actions had crossed the line. Virgil wasn’t on the state’s payroll. She had that going for her. He wasn’t a ward of the state, either. At least, not yet. Even after he went in, he wouldn’t be exactly like the other inmates because he’d be there voluntarily.

  He fell into a gray area; and the gray aspects of the situation were what had gotten her in trouble. Maybe they’d save her, too. But her lack of professionalism had complicated an investigation on which the CDCR, even the governor, had pinned high hopes. She’d been told that she and Virgil would be working together—yet she’d slept with him.

  That wasn’t right.

  So who should she tell?

  Determined to recover some dignity, she blinked rapidly to avoid the tears that threatened and scrolled through her electronic address book until she reached the warden’s number. Based on the chain of command, she should tell him. But it was almost midnight. She couldn’t disturb him this late.

  Afraid she’d lose her nerve or attempt to justify her behavior if she waited, she thought about telling Rick instead. She was pretty sure he’d be awake. Last she heard from him, the marshal had arrived at the safe house to guard Laurel and he was boarding a plane to Sacramento. He’d said it was a direct flight, so he should’ve landed by now—or would be landing any minute.

  “I really don’t want to do this,” she moaned. Rick wouldn’t be happy to hear she’d undermined their chances of success. But he was younger than the warden, more flexible about this type of thing, and she had a feeling he’d made his share of mistakes. Maybe that would inspire him to be at least a little understanding.

  Her finger shook as it hovered over the keypad, but she forced herself to place the call and ignored the jittery feeling that came over her once the phone began to ring. That feeling only grew more intense when her call transferred to voice mail, because it meant she had to stew a bit longer.

  Thirty minutes later, she was still stalking her living room, chewing her nails, when Rick finally returned her call.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Did you speak with Skinner?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Walking to my car. Why?”

  “Just curious.” She didn’t want him to be with anyone else when she told him this news.

  “Have you heard from Skinner or not?” he asked again.

  Slumping onto the couch, she groped for the words to tell him what she needed to say. “I did.”

  “And?”

  “He’s…fine.”

  “He’s still going through with it?”

  “Definitely.”

  Wallace sighed loudly enough for her to hear. “Good. I was afraid we were in a bit of a mess.”

  “Mess” was the perfect segue. Taking hold of Virgil’s medallion, which hung around her neck, she gathered her nerve and confronted her guilt. “There’s just one…problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m afraid I have…something to tell you. Something you won’t like.”

  “About…?”

  A tear escaped. She wasn’t used to being in this position, had always been so cautious to avoid censure. Terrified that she’d lose everything she’d worked so hard for, she clutched the medallion more tightly. She had only herself to blame…. “Virgil Skinner.”

  “You said he was fine.”

  “He is, but…I’ve had an inappropriate relationship with him,” she blurted out. Stunned silence.

  “Rick?” she ventured.

  “Does inappropriate mean what I think it means?” he asked.

  Leaping to her feet, she began to pace. She considered trying to explain how deeply Virgil affected her, but she refused to offer excuses, especially that one. She didn’t want to acknowledge that he held any power over her. Wallace wouldn’t care to hear it, anyway, and probably wouldn’t understand the compelling nature of what she felt for Virgil. She didn’t even understand it. “Yes.”

  “You slept with him?”

  Her stomach muscles cramped. “Yes.” More than once. “Why? My God, you’re so uptight about rules and doing what’s right, I never dreamed you’d do something like this. You barely met him!”

  She flinched. “I know.”

  He covered the phone and hollered, “Mind your own business,” and she imagined the shock of those who must’ve overheard his part of the conversation. She almost asked him to wait until he was in his car before they finished discussing this, but he was already railing at her, as if he didn’t care whether or not he made a spectacle of himself. “I can’t believe this! Maybe if you were someone else I could see it. Your friend Michelle is so hungry for a good screw she nearly salivates when she meets a prospective—”

  “Leave Michelle out of this,” Peyton broke in. “She’s had it rough the past year.”

  He continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “But not you. Nothing shakes you.”

  “Unlike Michelle, I haven’t just been through a painful divorce.”

  It didn’t seem to matter what she said. “While we were at the library, you and Skinner didn’t even seem to like each other.”

  She fingered Virgil’s medallion again, felt the heat of it. “I’m sorry.”

  The tenor of his voice changed, suddenly dropped. “He didn’t force you, did he?”

  She wondered if he’d be willing to forgo this investigation if she answered in the affirmative but she wasn’t going to make Virgil look bad just to test Rick. “No.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not at all.”

  The protracted silence became almost unbearable. “I haven’t told the warden yet,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake him. But…I’ll talk to him in the morning.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  She stopped pacing. “What?”

  “He doesn’t even know Skinner’s—Bennett’s—an ex-con. And keeping it from him was your idea, remember?”

  “It was your idea first. You lied to all of us.”

  “But I was willing to bring Fischer in on the secret once you found out.”

  “I realize that. It’s
not too late. Maybe it’s time for full disclosure.”

  “No. Don’t tell Fischer or anyone else anything, do you understand?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not proud of what I’ve done but I feel I should accept the consequences.”

  “Consequences…” He laughed bitterly. “Let me tell you what the consequences will be. They’ll begin with several uncomfortable meetings where you’ll have to explain your conduct in detail.”

  She winced. “I’m prepared to be honest.”

  “Even if it puts an end to any career advancement for the next decade or two?”

  Refusing to let him undermine her courage, she squared her shoulders. “I can’t base the truth on what the punishment will be.”

  “Shit!”

  “What?”

  “You’re not the only one it’ll affect.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Even if this narrows future opportunities, your reputation will work in your favor. That means you’ll probably retain your post, at least for the time being. Instead of canning you, they’ll yank Virgil.”

  She experienced a flash of relief. This was what she’d been hoping to achieve when she called him. Virgil wouldn’t be incarcerated, and she wouldn’t be tempted anymore. “Then they’ll yank Virgil.”

  “I won’t let it go that way. We have it all set up. Everything’s ready.”

  He was already writing his acceptance speech for his next promotion. “Maybe putting a stop to the investigation as it stands would be the right thing. I’m not sure Virgil will be safe at Pelican Bay.”

  His voice rose. “You did this to get what you wanted from the start!”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Isn’t it? You never liked the idea.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’d sabotage it!”

  “Then listen. You’ve reported your behavior. I’ve reprimanded you, you’ve promised you’ll never make that mistake again and now it’s over. Forget it.”

  She nearly dropped the phone. “Forget it? That’s it?”

  “Yeah. Consider your conscience clear. Who cares whether or not you were together? It doesn’t affect anything. You think I’m going to toss this whole investigation because you wanted to get laid by a piece of prison trash?”

  Peyton ground her teeth. “He’s not prison trash, Rick. He didn’t kill his stepfather. He’s no different than you or me.”

  “Yes, he is, Peyton. He’s killed. That makes him a whole lot different. If you don’t think he’s dangerous you’re wrong.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “Neither do you! One cheap lay and you’re an expert on this guy? Are you really that infatuated with him?”

  She remembered how Virgil had treated her at the motel. “No,” she said, but then she tried to be more honest, since that had been her intent in the first place. “I don’t think so. It’s all a bit confusing. I…I don’t want anyone to be hurt.”

  “It’s the Hells Fury who’ll be hurt. Irreparably, I hope.”

  He could imagine the headlines. But she feared those headlines would say something different than he hoped. “You don’t know that the damage will stop there.”

  “I’ve got too much riding on this investigation to flush it down the toilet over a little bump and grind. So you gave him a ride. What does it really matter? You’re two consenting adults, right? Hell, I was thinking I should hire the poor guy a hooker considering how long he’s been behind bars. Now I won’t have to.”

  Peyton straightened her spine. “Thanks for treating me with respect despite my mistake,” she said in a withering voice. “It means a lot to me.”

  “Hey, you can thank me when I come back to town.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As long as you’re giving it away for free, I’m next in line,” he said, and hung up.

  Surely he was joking. Wallace was married; she wouldn’t let him near her. She hoped he understood that, but it didn’t matter whether he did or not. He’d learn. She just needed to keep her distance from Virgil, and she’d soon be in control of her life again.

  Dropping her phone on the couch to free her hands, she removed his medallion and went to hide it in a drawer.

  16

  Eddie Glover felt like the walking dead. Because his wife had recently taken a job working afternoons and evenings at a craft store, he’d switched to nights at ADX Florence. Someone had to be available for the kids after school. But a week into the change, his body hadn’t made the adjustment yet. Eight hours on his feet during the time he normally slept left him dragging, feeling punchy, dim-witted, slow to react.

  Apparently he was slow to react, and none too observant. He didn’t notice the car that turned down his street until it drove up onto his lawn and three white men, all of them wearing beanies and overlarge sweatshirts, jumped out. Once he understood what was happening, he stood slack-jawed as the tallest of the three waved a pistol in his face.

  “Glover?”

  Eddie didn’t bother denying his identity. Although he was wearing a heavy coat, his uniform bore a tag and would be easy enough to check. “What’s going on?”

  With the help of the others, the man who’d verified his name started dragging him to the front porch. But Eddie couldn’t let these men in the house. His wife and two little girls were there.

  Adrenaline blasted away the cobwebs in his mind, but there wasn’t much he could do to gain the upper hand, not when he was surrounded by three thugs toting guns. His cell phone was in his shirt pocket, but he knew they’d shoot him the minute he tried to get it out. He had only the lock on the front door and his ability to reason with them.

  As soon as they realized the house was locked up, the tall man with a thin line of hair along his jaw—and a pointy chin reminiscent of pictures representing the devil—nudged him. “Get your keys.”

  They were in his pants pocket, but he made no move to retrieve them. “No.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Devil said.

  “Not at all. I won’t let you in my house.”

  They stiffened as if he’d surprised them. But he couldn’t imagine why. If these men thought he’d give them access to his house under any conditions, they had no idea how much he loved his family.

  “What did you say?” Devil demanded.

  He eyed the storm drain, judging the distance. If they tried to get his keys, he’d throw them in there, he decided. “I can’t let you in the house. You can do what you want with me, but that won’t change.”

  “Are you stupid?” This came from a much shorter man with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin, including his face. His wild eyes made Eddie nervous. He’d seen that look before, plenty of times. It usually indicated drug use and often preceded violence.

  Struggling to remain calm, he drew measured breaths. Panic would get him nowhere. But it would be easier to figure out how to defuse this situation if only he understood why it was happening. He’d worked at the prison for ten years and never had an incident. “Not stupid enough to let you in my house.”

  “Then we’ll shoot you here.” Wild Eyes shoved the muzzle of his gun between Eddie’s ribs. Eddie wished his neighbors were early risers, but it wasn’t even light yet. The ones who were up were probably getting into a hot shower, not peering out their windows to see if he’d made it home safe. Even his house was dark.

  “If you’d just tell me what you want, maybe I could help you instead,” he said, hoping to calm them. “I’ve got my wallet. It’s right here. We could go down to the ATM.” He’d seen enough gang members to know these guys were affiliated. Their tattoos told him that much. The third man—dark hair and eyes, average height, average build—had a clover tattoo with AB on the back of his hand. Eddie recognized it as an Aryan Brotherhood tattoo and guessed they were after money. That had to be it. There wasn’t any other reason for the AB to come after him. He had good relationships with the convicts at Florence. That didn’t mean he condoned their actions; it just meant that
, in his opinion, anyone who expected to be treated like a decent human being should treat others the same way.

  Devil nudged his compatriot aside. “If he doesn’t want to go in the house, we’ll put him in the car.”

  The car wasn’t any less dangerous for Eddie, but he was willing to go with them to draw any threat away from the house.

  Devil jumped behind the wheel and fired up the engine. The more aggressive Wild Eyes shoved Eddie in the passenger seat before getting in behind him, and Clover Tattoo, who hadn’t said a word and didn’t seem all that thrilled to be there, took the other seat.

  “Are we going to the bank?” Eddie asked as they ran up over the sidewalk and spun out, tearing up his lawn.

  No one responded. They lurched into the street and careered around several turns, but when they headed away from the city, Eddie knew this wasn’t a robbery.

  Eventually they found a dirt road leading into the countryside. Judging by the way they hurtled over grooves and potholes without any consideration for the vehicle, Eddie wondered if they were driving a stolen car. But it had very little wear and tear.

  It smelled like a rental….

  These boys were from out of town.

  But that only added to his confusion. What was going on?

  Spotting a rental agreement lying on the floor with several fast-food wrappers, he tried to get a glimpse of the name. But it wasn’t easy. The agreement had been stepped on and torn, and he was trying not to be obvious.

  Something Thompson. That was what it looked like.

  Eddie didn’t know anyone by the name of Thompson.

  At last they came upon a wooded area, stopped and piled out. As they marched him into the woods, he thought they must have him confused with someone else. Except that they’d clarified his name. Were they trying to learn how ADX worked so they could break friends out of prison? Did they want his uniform to help with the attempt?

  Once they were well-concealed by foliage, they shoved him up against the trunk of a tree and raised their guns.

  His heartbeat crashed like cymbals in his ears as he studied his captors, all of them strangers. This is how my life is going to end? They gave him the impression that they were going to kill him without so much as an explanation.